


Chimera

by DumpsterDiving101



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The First Avenger, Electroconvulsive Therapy, Electrocution, Gen, Hallucinations, Insanity, M/M, Medical Torture, Not Captain America: The First Avenger Compliant, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Psychological Torture, Torture, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 21:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16183550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterDiving101/pseuds/DumpsterDiving101
Summary: Bucky Barnes has been captured and now it is his sole duty to do whatever necessary to oppose his captors, whether that means refusing their questions, continuously trying to escape, or flat out singing the American National Anthem when they try to electrocute his memories out of him. It's scary and its lonely-- which might be why his brain conjures up a certain familiar punk to keep him company.Or,Bucky is captured and held at Azzano, and he hallucinates that Steve is there with him.





	Chimera

**Author's Note:**

> Chimera   
> n.
> 
> a thing that is hoped or wished for but in fact is illusory or impossible to achieve
> 
> synonyms: illusion, fantasy, delusion, dream, daydream

 The first time he sees him is at Azzano. Technically, it's not the first time Bucky has seen him, because Bucky had seen him every day for twelve years, which might be why the image is so defined.    
  
 Bucky is strapped down to a table, and there is a needle in his arm, pumping an unknown liquid into his veins that keeps him awake. It has been... how many weeks? And then next to him, sitting on a stack of crates and picking at his nails, is Steve.    
  
Bucky thrashes in his restraints like he'd just had a bucket of water dumped over him, and the surprise is enough to get him to forget  _ everything _ and call out “Steve, Steve, Stevie!” like a battle chant. Steve doesn’t look up, but he also can’t stave off the smile tugging up at his lips. 

 “Well lookie here. Looks like someone’s gotten themself in a bit of a bind, hmm? I told you you were taking all the stupid with you.” 

 Steve is, apparently, in no rush, not that he ever was. Bucky was always the one grabbing his wrist and pulling him through crowds, shouting about the new shop that just went up or the new ride at Coney Island, the new comic book that had just been released or the new neighbor who’d promised a slice off fresh apple pie for some help moving in. Bucky loved everything new: new books, new movies, a new girl every week, the new uniform that proclaimed  _ SERGEANT!  _ to anyone who saw. Steve, on the other hand, was daringly consistent. While Bucky wandered the streets of New York like he’s never seen color before, Steve could always be found in the same few places: his and his ma’s apartment, darning socks and cutting off the thread with his teeth, or in the corner on the ratty old chair closest the the window for the best light, sketching with his charcoal; standing outside the theater, staring at the bright posters like he was trying to gauge the plot of the movies without actually paying to see them; in the back room of any of the businesses down by the docks, mopping or sorting or stacking until he inevitably got sick, missed work, and was fired; or in one of the alleys anywhere in Brooklyn, to be frank, getting his ass handed to him and refusing to stay down. Steve was as consistent as the banks and inflation and employment rates  _ weren't _ , and if you forgot, he’d set his jaw and remind you. Stubbornness was genetic, Bucky was sure, which made any sort of argument at the Rogers’ household a spectacle to witness. Not to say that Steve and his ma argued often, but when Steve put his foot down, he put his foot down in  _ cement  _ and there was no changing his mind. 

 Now, Steve sits on the stack of crates by Bucky’s cot/table/deathbed, and he’s apparently set his foot down on the idea that he’s going to take his sweet time helping Bucky out. He turns his hand over, brushing off some charcoal dust from the back of it and ending up just smearing it more. Meanwhile, Bucky is doing his best not to pee himself, because the more you try to convince Steven Rogers that something needs to be done  _ right now _ , the more he takes his time. So Bucky squirms, and bites his lip, and waits. But before long he can’t stand it, so he goes “Alright, you're right, I'm an idiot, now let’s get out of here.” 

 Usually the confession that he’s an idiot would make Steve puff out his chest like one of those exotic birds, but this time, all he does is glance up at Bucky and grin. “Well,  _ I  _ always knew you were a bonehead, but I'm glad we're in agreement.” 

 “Ha ha, you're hilarious. Now come on, we have to get out of here, the next rotation--" 

 He stops talking immediately when the sound of boots echoes down the hallway outside. All of the lights are off, so Bucky can only see by the light of the moon streaming in through the windows, but his eyes have long since adjusted and he’s pretty sure he sees a figure walk past one of the observation windows. There’s nothing for a few moments, and Bucky’s mind fills with images from those two-bit horror films, when a man walks past, dressed head to toe in the uniform that Bucky has come to hate so deeply. He speaks to him in German, yelling at him for something, existing probably, and it’s only when he leaves that Bucky realizes he didn't even notice Steve. He whips around, the table creaking and croaking underneath him, eyes as wide as the moon outside, and asks “Stevie? What--" 

 “You remember Dorothy Mets?” Steve interrupts, looking up so the grayish moonlight can shift through his wheat-blond hair-- waves of grain indeed. “She married a Navy guy, already got herself knocked up. Talk about shipping out.” 

 His words are humorous, but his tone is dark, bitter. Bucky still doesn’t understand what’s going on, how in the hell Steve’s here at all, but he knows that expression and if Stevie thinks they've got time, then to Hell with it, they’ve got time. “Stevie?”

 Steve waved off the worried question as easily as he used to think he could wave off pneumonia, or TB. “I'm just trying to get you caught up. What about Sarah Demours, the blonde? She was real sweet on you. You shoulda’ asked her to dance.” 

 “I did,” Bucky admitted. “Summer of… hell if I can remember. She had two left feet, but wasn't all that bad of a partner. What about her?” 

 Steve shrugged. “Her parents sent her to some family in South Dakota, or something. From what I hear, she was real upset.” He stopped picking at his hands long enough to look back at Bucky with those piercing eyes, the ones that pinned you in place and made you realize you'd been leaning up against flypaper the whole time. “I bet she’d be pretty upset to find out you ended up here.” 

 “Yeah, well she’s not the only one. Speaking of, why don’t we keep talking outside? Better light.” 

 “The light in here’s fine. What about Patty? With the… uh… the curls? What are they called, the real curly ones…”

 “Ringlets, you lug,” Bucky said, not able to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, I remember her. I don't think I've forgotten anyone yet, it hasn't been that long.” 

 “It wouldn't have to be long,” Steve snapped,gesturing at the IV bag hanging by the bed. “They’re pumping you full of enough shit right now to make you forget your own mom. Hell, they're pumping you full of enough shit right now to make you forget  _ me. _ ” 

 Bucky feels hurt, though he isn’t exactly sure why. “Stevie, I could never forget you, you hear?” It’s gotten too deep too fast, so Bucky tries to save it with a grin and a “I’ve gotten battle fatigue just from being your friend for twelve years. I couldn't forget you even if I wanted to.” 

 It was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. Once more, he’s removed his gaze, now more focused on the thumbnail he was biting than Bucky’s sad, strapped down body. “Yeah, well. You’ll forget me when it comes time to.” 

 For some reason, regardless of whether the statement was rhetorical or not Bucky still finds that he absolutely cannot accept that. “No. No, I won’t, you… peanut head. I ain't planning on forgetting nothin’, and even if I do stop remembering what Sarah Demours dances like or what Patty’s hair is like, I'm not planning on forgetting my best guy, alright? So you can quit it.” 

 Steve smiles sadly, except without really smiling at all. “You will,” he promises. 

 There’s the sound of multiple boots going down the hallway, coming for him, and when he turns around again to warn Steve he’s already gone. 

  
  


\----------------

 After his mental processes are thoroughly broken down by the sleep deprivation, the Germans cart out a machine, setting it up next to his bed. Large panels come down over parts of his face, and Bucky is about to ask what is happening when they tuck a leather belt into his mouth to bite down on. His voice comes out garbled against it, and as he tries calling out the panels crackle with electricity. Bucky is hit with a cargo truck of pain, the type of pain from a hard slap, tingling and burning at the same time, except it encompasses his entire body. He convulses, cold and hot, biting down on the leather in his mouth as if that was the only way to stop it. From the muscles in his face to the ones in his feet, all of his muscles contract at once, to the point where his hands are bent so far backwards he worries they'll snap like a box of toothpicks all broken in one go. There is pain, and  _ pain _ , and nothing else, and orders are being shouted around him but he can’t hear  _ anything _ , just the noise of it all and a familiar sounding scream somewhere in the background. 

 The electricity is turned off as quickly as it was turned on, leaving Bucky to relax so suddenly his entire body slams back against the table. The belt is removed and he starts sobbing from the pain, the terror of it all. Back when they started, he put up a front, refused to let them see they were hurting him, but at some point they realized they could do whatever sick experiments they wanted to him if they just kept him strapped down. Compliance was not necessary when you couldn't do anything to stop it anyways. 

 There are a few doctors around him, noting the time and his tear streaked body. He’s shaking, not from fear as much as he is from exhaustion. It’s the same full body anguish brought on by throwing up. If Bucky were standing, he’d slump against the ground; if Bucky were unrestrained, he’d curl up in a ball; but he wasn’t standing and the various straps kept in in place, so all he could do was sob. 

 One of the doctors with the clipboards looked up, speaking in heavily accented German, and Bucky only understood one word of it: higher. Next time they would go higher; as bad as this time was, next time would be worse. 

 The next time was worse. When it happened, nearly a day later, the edges of the pain were sharp and crisp, and Bucky’s insides were a 5 watt light bulb screwed into a 5000 watt power source. He exploded and shattered in a kaleidoscope of fractured color and millions and Steve's little sewing needles stitching themself into his skin. 

 When the world came back, Bucky couldn't help it. He screamed. “Steve! Come back, Steve,  _ Steve! _ ”

 For some reason, this seemed to displease the doctors even more. He couldn't hear anything but his own blood rushing through his ears, but he knew that the same command was being given:  _ next time, we go higher. _

 It took a few more visits from the scientists-- not all of which including the hellish machine-- to realize their goal. They wanted to make Bucky forget, about everything. They wanted a clean slate, a handsome all-American boy who already had skills in sniping, that they could use and turn him against his homeland. To do that, they needed him empty. 

_ You’ll forget me when it comes time to,  _ Steve had said. 

 So, in his downtime between getting fried like a corn dog and medicated like a cancer patient, Bucky set to remembering Steve. He sifted through memories, trying to sort them from where the electricity had left them disheveled and unorganized. There were so many, almost too many-- Steve laughing, Steve smiling, Steve with a black eye, broken nose, bloodied mouth, Steve walking like he had a point to prove and Steve walking like he knew where he was going, even when he really didn't. Steve laying on the couch, the floor, his bed, honeyed tea by his side as he told Bucky once again,  _ shove off, I'm  _ **_fine_ ** ,  _ I can take care of myself.  _

 Bucky is electrocuted five more times. The second time after that he vomits, and they hardly get the bit out of his mouth before the puke comes up. Getting electrocuted was a terrifying experience, but Bucky doesn’t think there is anything worse than being forced to vomit laying down. He manages to get most of it on the floor, but there is still some that lulls back into his throat, making him gag. The scientists only intervene when it’s been going on for too long, and it might interfere with their tests. 

 By the fourth time, Bucky’s memory is beginning to get patchy. A man who knows English comes in after every time, asking him questions: what is his name, his rank, who does he serve, where did he live. For the most part, Bucky can remember, but after the next session the word ‘Brooklyn’ doesn’t come to mind and he says, hesitantly, “New York?” 

 The man smiles, and even though Bucky doesn’t remember what the right answer is, he knows that just the fact that the man smiled meant that he’d said the wrong one. 

 As his memories get more cloudy, Bucky puts all of his energy into remembering Steve. Steve is scrawny but tough as nails, mean but with a sweet streak a mile wide. He laughs with Bucky and smiles with Bucky, and when Bucky put on that crisp new suit and told him he was being shipped out, Steve hugged him like if he had an option, he wouldn’t let go. 

 “Don’t do anything stupid,” Bucky had said. 

 “How can I?” And there was that shit-eating smirk, the one that made teachers and cops and anyone respectable consider taking a step back. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” 

 The next time it happens, Bucky forgets Steve’s name for a few horrible minutes, and all he can remember is a faded memory of them leaning on their elbows playing monopoly. The blond boy is grinning and saying something, but the memory has no sound. 

 He remembers the boy’s name, eventually. His name is Steve. He is Bucky’s best friend. He loves baseball, he never knows when to stop, and he was born on July 4, 1920. 7-4-20. 7-4-20. Bucky repeats the numbers, over and over again, as if he could brand them into his mind. 

_  7-4-20.  _

_  7-4-20.  _

_  7-4-20.  _

_  7-4-- _

 At one point, Steve reappears, sitting on the crates again but this time his legs are crossed. He makes a face, a scowl that could be taken as good-natured or genuinely annoyed, depending on how you felt at the moment, and says “Yeah, that's my birthday alright, you fucking loon.” 

 He’s gone just like that. Bucky is hit with newfound motivation; he will get out, he will see Steve again. Steve? Steve. His name was Steve. 7-4-20, the 4th of July, 1920. Steve always teased Bucky about that, asking why Bucky didn’t get fireworks on his birthday. 

 “I guess the entire world revolves around you, huh?” Bucky would mock. 

 Then Steve would grin, a big toothy grin, the result of a leer and a smile mixing together, and he’d say “Are you saying it doesn't?” 

 Bucky would shake his head. “Nope.” 

 Steve Rogers. Steven-- it was Steven, wasn’t it?-- Steven  Gregg Grass Grout Grant Rogers, Bucky’s best friend. 

 The next time the scientists came with the machine, he screamed at them about being filthy krauts, and as they hooked him up he started singing the national anthem as loud as his battered throat would let him. He kept singing even as the leather was placed between his teeth, and only stopped when his body was grabbed by all limbs and dragged straight to Hell. 

 He resurfaced when the machine was switched off, gasping and struggling against his bonds. He’d been… doing something, but the memory was just gone. One of the men with clipboards smiled. 

 Bucky was left alone once more. He stayed on the table-- not like he could do much else-- and rocked his head from side to side, humming some song about flags and fields. Rolling field of wheat? Was that the line? What was it from? 

 There was something he was supposed to remember. There was-- but then-- and-- 

_   7-4-20.  _

__ They were nice numbers, Bucky supposed. 7-4-20. 7-4-20.

 He said them outloud. 

 “7-4-20. 7-4-20. 7-4-20.”

 No one responded. Bucky didn’t expect anyone to; he was, after all, all alone. 

 “7-4-20. 7-4-20. 7-4-20.”

 “Bucky?” 

 Bucky laughed at the word. He knew it was his name, but it sounded so funny like that, all confused and… and…

 Bucky couldn’t remember. 

 A face looked over his, and Bucky stopped reciting the numbers, frowning instead. The face was vaguely familiar, a man with pinched features, black eyebrows shaped like triangles, and the startings of a beard. “Bucky?” 

 Bucky’s frown deepened. “7-4-20?” he asked. 

 “It’s Morita. I'm going to get you out of here.” 

 Bucky hummed as he started unstrapping him, then a thought came to mind and he almost kicked with excitement. “Is… 7-4-20… Steve? Steve! Is Steve here? Did he help you find me?” 

 His hands and feet were free by the time Morita answered, helping him stand. Bucky hadn’t used his feet in… 

 “Steve? Oh, no, I think he’s still in Brooklyn. But Dum-Dum’s here, and Jacques, and Falsworth. Come on, okay? Let’s walk.” 

 “Walk,” Bucky repeated, but let Morita lead him. Morita. Morita. Mor-- “What’s your name?” 

 “Morita.” 

 “Morita,” Bucky repeated with a nod. Morita. Morita. Mor--

 Hmm?

 “Is Steve here?” 

 “Come on, Barnes. I'll explain later.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little project I was working on. I do have ideas for a second chapter, so if you'd like one please let me know! If you are looking for more of pre-serum Steve and Bucky's dynamic I recommend checking out my other story "God's Righteous Man", which is the main thing I'm working on right now.


End file.
